America's Cleaning Out the Storage
by Marichinocherry
Summary: The rusty hinges on the door creaked. America stepped into the dusty room. A century of being left alone had certainly taken it's toll; everything had a layer of dust on it. At first glance it looked like a room from a horror movie, but America knew it was just a dusty old room full of old, bittersweet memories.


**_America's Storage Cleaning_**

**Disclaimer: **_**I do not own Hetalia.**__**I also have no claim over **__**America's Storage Cleaning. **__**None of this plot is mine.**_

America pushed open the old door to his storage room. The rusty hinges took a bit of effort to move. America stepped inside and set his stack of books on a nearby table.

Though it was dark, and the only light source was coming from the open doorway, he didn't find the room scary at all. He knew that it was just an old, dusty room filled with old, dusty memories.

"Well, great. I can finally clean this place out after nearly a century of collecting dust," America said to himself, "Looking into your past is never easy; even for me. I've tried to clean this place before, but it brought up so many painful memories every time I'd start to clean I'd get lost in them."

A small, checkered-pattern chest caught his eye. Wooden soldiers were piled around it. Their paint was faded and chipped and they were covered in a film of dust.

* * *

_"No way! Is it really okay for me to have it?" A young America said excitedly, holding a checkered box. The points at the top glistened._

"_Of course it is," replied England fondly, looking back at America. "I made it especially for you."_

"_Oh man, this is cool! Thanks, Mr. Britain-Sir!" America's eyes shined with delight._

_England chuckled. "Take good care of it. After all, I nearly broke my hand while I was piecing it together." He gestured to his arm in a sling._

"_Wow…So I've got my very own toy soldiers." Little America gasped. "You made all their faces different!"_

_England kneeled down next to America, "I painted each individual figure separately."_

* * *

America held a toy soldier in his hand. The chipped face stared back at him. He sighed and said, "I'll never use these again, so I guess I'll just throw them away."

He looked over his shoulder. "Oh. My old suit."

He was looking at a grubby navy blue suit. A black bowtie was tied to the collar.

* * *

"_Hey, what's with the suit?" America grew up, he was now a teenager. He held up the new outfit near his face, examining it carefully. "It looks expensive. Too bad, I'm never going to wear it."_

"_You should," England insisted. "Dressing like a pauper isn't in fashion. I refuse to be seen with you if you're not dressed properly."_

"_So what's the matter? I think the way I dress is perfectly acceptable." America answered. His expression was one of hurt, and confusion. Why did he even need to dress fancily?_

_America came out wearing his suit, and then he looked at himself in the mirror. He made a whimper of discomfort and pulled on the jacket._

"_See? Dressed like that, it's hard to believe that you're the same person." England stood behind him._

"_Sure, but this isn't comfortable, I guess I'll just wear it on special occasions, then." America reluctantly agreed to wear it._

* * *

"Hmm," America stared at the old suit in his hands. "I'll never wear this again; I should throw it out too."

He stood up. "Boy, going through this old stuff sure can get me depressed." He rummaged through a crate. "Isn't there anything worth saving?"

He found an old rifle. "Here's something good. It's old, but this thing saved my butt, I'll keep this." His eyes blinked and widened when he saw a long, ragged scratch on the barrel. "That scratch," he said with disbelief, "that one time. It has to be."

* * *

_America stood out in the rain, his soldiers standing behind him, waiting for his signal._

"_Hey Britain," America yelled over the downpour, "All I want, is my freedom. I'm no longer a child, nor your little brother. From now on, consider me independent!"_

_America's eyes blazed. His jaw was set in a firm scowl. He looked ready to fight more than ever. England stared back at him shocked, betrayed, and hurt._

_Suddenly, he ran up to America and steered the point of his bayonet to America's face. Out of reflex, America blocked it with the barrel of his rifle, just inches away from his face. The rifle flew out of his hands. There was nothing between him and England._

"_I won't allow it!" vowed England, "You idiot! Why can't you follow through anything to the end?"_

"_Ready, aim!" ordered the commander of the patriot troops._

_England lowered his weapon, "There's no way I can shoot you. I can't." He fell to his knees, hardly keeping himself from breaking down. "Why? Dammit, why? It's not fair!"_

"_You know why," said America blankly. He remembered when he was a little kid, England would extend his hand to him and say, "Let's go home." That one sentence would make little America so, so happy. What happened?_

"_What happened?" America echoed his thoughts. "I remember when you were great."_

* * *

America stood in his backyard, taking in the sun. He was silent as he took in the sunlight.

"Ah! There you are, Mr. America!" Lithuania called from behind him. A pot of coffee and two china cups rested on the tray in his hands.

America only turned a little so his friend wouldn't see his strained smile. "Hey. I just had to get away from all that dust for a minute. I didn't really make much progress, but, I still think I'm done for the day. "

"Right. It must've been exhausting." Lithuania paused as an idea came to him. "Would you like to have your coffee here then?"

"Sure, that sounds perfect."

The both sat down on a bench, sipping their coffee contentedly.

"It's weird, I'm having quite a difficult time throwing away some of those things." America chuckled to himself. "You know, I think I might be turning into a sentimental old man"

"No, you're just turning into an adult."

**AN: Hey guys! This is my first Hetalia fanfic, so I hope you enjoy it. All of this, **_**everything,**_** came from **_**America's Storage Cleaning. I merely transcribed it to plain text. I am thinking of making an extension to this where England comes over and the two get into an awkward conversation about their history.**_

_**PS: If any of this is against any of the rules, please contact me.**_


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